


Fearing Greenland

by debit



Category: Princess Bride - William Goldman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debit/pseuds/debit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written April 27, 2000.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearing Greenland

Somewhere near the border between Florin and Guilder, a large man hurried down a dark little alley. Even though this was a rather seedy part of town, he didn't hurry because he was concerned about being attacked by footpads. Most footpads who saw him had the tendency to exclaim, "Eep!" and the presence of mind to scurry back into the safety of the shadows. Out of the very few things Fezzik, currently the world's strongest man, feared, being a crime victim wasn't among them. He hurried because he was late and Vizzini had been quite insistent about the time.

Most people would be surprised to know that at the top of that very short list of fears was a rather small Sicilian man. On the other hand, people who had even the briefest of acquaintances with Vizzini wouldn't be surprised at all.

And Fezzik was not only tardy in returning to the meeting place, he had not followed all of Vizzini's rather specific instructions. He thought of Greenland and shuddered.

The thing was, he didn't want to hurt people. He didn't even want to fight them, really. It was just the downside of being the world's strongest man. But orders were orders and he hadn't followed them. Not all the way.

It was different when he was just fighting mobs of people for money. No one really got injured, at least not in the beginning. But then they'd discovered his reluctance to actually hurt anyone and reacted like a typical mob by throwing rocks, hitting him with sticks and calling him various insulting names.

As a point of fact, Fezzik had discovered that stick and stones did not actually break his bones. They didn't even really bruise his skin. It was the words accompanying the sticks and stones that did the most damage.

It occurred to him that whoever came up with that phrase might have been the same person responsible for naming certain islands. He wondered if he should have a quest like Inigo and hunt down this particular person. Fezzik tried out an opening sentence, should he ever meet his quarry. "Hi there. My name is Fezzik. You are guilty of false advertising. I'm going to crush your skull like an eggshell."

No. It probably wouldn't work. What if he actually then had to follow up on his threat? And it was too wordy. Not like Inigo's phrase. Now that was elegant. Like Inigo. Of course, Inigo managed to be elegant even when he was vomiting up several bottles of cheap brandy. Fezzik, who was as clumsy as he was strong, found himself inordinately charmed by this. Yet, for some reason, Vizzini didn't appreciate the aesthetics of this ability and had in the past acidly suggested Inigo would not be forced to expel his guts if he drank a higher quality of brandy or better yet, none at all. Inigo countered that as he could only afford cheap brandy this solution would have to remain hypothetical. Or words to that effect, anyway. The possibility of not drinking wasn't even considered.

There weren't many things Inigo expressed an interest in beyond finding the man with six fingers. Therefore, Inigo sought out things that would either make him forget his lack of success in avenging his father or would appropriately punish him for the same. Since he was unbeatable these days, swordplay was out of the question. Brandy, or rather the effects of brandy, held their own charm until the vomiting started. As Fezzik entered the rude hut they currently called home, he was happy to see this was not yet the case.

Inigo gave him an abbreviated salute with the half empty bottle and asked, "Did you get the uniforms?"

Fezzik nodded and held them up as proof.

"Did you kill them?"

This was a problem. Vizzini had made it quite clear the Guilder soldiers were not to be left in any condition to report the theft of their uniforms. In Vizzini terms, that meant dead. The thing was, Fezzik didn't really like killing.

"It didn't seem very sportsmanlike," he hedged. Fezzik also didn't really like lying. It made him feel all hot and uncomfortable inside.

"Fezzik, we are not sportsmen. We are mercenaries."

"Do we have a code of honor?"

"Not as such, no. Usually being in this line of work means you do an honest day's killing for an honest day's pay." Inigo took another swig from the bottle between his legs and grimaced. "You did not kill them, did you?"

"Not really. No." In fact, Fezzik had very gently knocked the two soldier's heads together and left their naked and unconscious bodies in a barn. On a pile of hay. Covered with a horse blanket. He'd also apologized to the horse for stealing his blanket. He didn't share these details with Inigo.

"Vizzini is going to be angry. Angrier."

The truth of the matter was that Vizzini was always angry. Circumstances dictated how angry and whether you would be flayed alive with his tongue or whip. Fezzik actually preferred the whip. It hurt less.

"Inigo?"

"What?"

"I don't want to go back to Greenland."

"Okay."

"Vizzini said he'd send me back there if I didn't follow orders."

Fezzik lacked the words to express the utter and appalling awfulness of Greenland. It wasn't just that it was in fact, not green, but was instead very gray and full of rocks. It wasn't even the cold wind that was so keen it sharpened the overabundance of rocks to a razor's edge. It was more that there really was nothing in Greenland but wind and rocks.

While Fezzik had been lonely most of his life, he'd never been really alone until Greenland. Inigo alone understood how much Fezzik feared Greenland, not just as a country, but as a state of existence.

"He can't," Inigo assured him. "You're part of the plan."

"Inigo, we don't know what his plan is."

Inigo gently burped. "We know it involves a ship, Guilder uniforms and us. We," and here he burped again, "are key elements."

Fezzik pondered this. "I've never been an element before. This is a good thing?"

Inigo drunkenly shrugged. "It is secure. Security. Until the job is over."

Safe from Greenland for the foreseeable future, Fezzik set down the stolen uniforms and examined his companion with grave regard. "Inigo, I think you're drunk."

Inigo grinned crookedly and responded, "Don't let it put you in a funk."

"Vizzini says if you don't stop drinking, you'll wind up dead."

"Well, then I suppose you'd better put me to bed."

Fezzik easily lifted his companion, set him down in the pile of straw in the corner, then joined him. He should have stolen another horse blanket. Inigo solved the potential issue of being cold by wrapping himself around Fezzik's body.

Inigo, as Fezzik had discovered, could be many kinds of drunk. Mean drunk, philosophical drunk and fighting drunk were his usual favorites. But on occasion, he was a horny drunk. Feeling Inigo's hand creep under his waistband, Fezzik could only conclude this was the case tonight.

Fezzik warned, "Vizzini will be back soon."

Dutifully continuing the rhyming, Inigo responded, "Not before the rising of the moon." His fingers apparently discovered something interesting, as they paused to measure then stroke.

"If you think we have the time…" Fezzik lost his train of thought as Ingio's fingers curled then pulled.

"It wouldn't be a crime," Inigo finished. Persuasively. Seductively.

In fact, it could be and might be depending on local ordinances. But that had never stopped them before.

Fezzik reached inside Inigo's bag and found the small vial of oil he knew would be there. After Inigo nimbly removed the necessary articles of clothing, Fezzik coated his fingers and made the necessary preparations.

When Inigo started gasping out foreign gibberish, Fezzik gently chided, "Inigo, that's not fair. You know I can't rhyme in Spanish."

This was answered by an irate gabble of more Spanish that Fezzik was nevertheless able to correctly translate as, "Damn it, fuck me now!'

He obediently did so, to their mutual pleasure and inadvertently rhyming pleasure sounds. That is, if "Hmmm" and "Mmmm" could be considered rhyming. Fezzik considered them acceptable. As apparently, did Inigo since he didn't protest.

After they recovered, actually when they became chilled, and their clothing had been restored to a suitable modest state, Inigo wrapped himself around Fezzik again and yawned.

"You probably should have killed them," he remarked.

"And taken another blanket," Fezzik agreed mildly.

"Oh well. No changing what's done."

"What's done!?"

They both blinked at Vizzini's outraged voice and wondered when he'd entered the hut. It is needless to point out that they each held the fervent hope his entrance had been no sooner than within the previous three minutes.

"Perhaps it would be more accurate to say what wasn't done," Vizzini spat out. "Two soldiers were found without their uniforms in a barn. Covered in a blanket, I might add. Perhaps I've gone insane, and certainly this is a possibility after dealing with you two, but I remain convinced I ordered you, giant, to kill them."

"I'm not a giant," Fezzik protested feebly. "I'm a Turk."

Vizzini sniffed audibly and acerbically noted, "So I see. If you could pause from fornicating for a moment to attend, I have something to say that you both might find of interest." He paused and asked in acid etched tones, "Are you listening?"

Both Fezzik and Inigo cautiously nodded.

"This somewhat niggling detail may have escaped you, but we have a very important job to do. I realize that the concept of royalty may mean nothing to scum such are yourselves. But this means money. More money that you could earn with either fighting or fucking." He glared at Inigo. "I thought I could at least count on you, you piece of Spanish putrescence. Either crawl out of the bottle and stay out or I can't use you"

He turned his basilisk gaze to Fezzik. "And you. You," and here his voice dropped to a sibilant whisper, "semi evolved simian, you pachydermous pervert, learn how to keep your mind on the job at hand or I'll see you on a slow boat to Greenland." With one last glare for the both of them, he wheeled around and announced, "I'm going to sleep on the boat. Be there at first light or don't get paid." And on that, he stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment Inigo merely stared at the still quivering door then said mildly, "He certainly knows a lot of large words."

"Yes," agreed Fezzik. "They must have excellent schools in Sicily."

"Still," Inigo added with a yawn, "that went better than I thought it might."

Fezzik agreed, "I thought it might be more of a fight."

Inigo curled against him and buried his face in Fezzik's throat. "Okay?"

After thinking about it, Fezzik nodded and pressed a fleeting kiss to the top of Inigo's head. "I still don't want to go to Greenland, Inigo."

"Well then I'll just kill him when the job is done," was the irritated rejoinder.

While touched by the offer, Fezzik felt it necessary to reply, "You know I don't like killing."

With a sigh, Inigo growled, "Fine. If you have to go, I'll go with you."

"You won't like it," Fezzik warned.

"Fezzik?" It was funny how Inigo's accent became very pronounced when he was irritated or tired or both.

"Yes?"

"I'll like it if you're there. Now go to sleep. We have to get up before first light. And I'll be hung over."

There was little doubt about that. Inigo had drunk an extraordinary amount of brandy. Even so, Fezzik took his promise to heart. He went to sleep. And did not dream of Greenland.


End file.
